


The Killing Kind

by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror



Series: Disaster Management [2]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Endeavour Morse Whump, Episode Related, Protective Fred Thursday, Shooting, The Thursdays Adopt Endeavour Morse, Win the worried mother hen, someone give Morse a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror/pseuds/Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror
Summary: Mrs Coke Norris had a better aim than expected.
Series: Disaster Management [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757095
Comments: 20
Kudos: 68





	1. Home

Morse considered himself a logical man. His ability to think on the spot and understand situations faster than most is what he prided himself in.

But in that moment not a single thought came to mind. He couldn’t do anything.

A shaking gun aimed at his chest with only a phone for defence. Morse knew his life wasn’t going to amount to much, but to end like this was laughable. Oh, if his father could see him now.

As soon as he saw Thursday flash into the corner of his eye, the DCI fired, taking Mrs Coke-Norris down in one clean hit. It was situations like this that made Morse realise why carrying a firearm had its advantages.

He’d never felt so relieved, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Morse?” Thursday sounded laced with worry.

Morse frowns, following Thursdays line of sight. Oh. _Maybe that’s why it felt hard to breath_ , Morse thought.

Blood was turning his off-white shirt a deep red at an alarming rate and Morse couldn’t help the bile rising in his throat. God, he hated the sight of blood, let alone when its his own freely pouring out.

Before he could look up his knees buckled below him, the floor rushing to greet him.

Thursday was quick to chase him down, catching his shoulders to cushion the fall. 

Fred turns him onto his back, letting his head rest on Thursdays chest before reaching the phone that dangled haphazardly from the stand.

“Hello? Hello? Yes, its bloody urgent. He’s been shot for gods sakes!” Realistically he knew it wasn’t the paramedics fault, but they didn’t seem to be making the situation any easier. He barked the address at them and swiftly put the phone down.

He lies Morse on the floor, holding his hands flat over the bullet hole. The pressure elicited a yell from the detective, trying to move away from the unwanted weight.

“Hush, Morse, you’re alright.” Thursday says softly, trying to keep his eye contact. He stole a quick glance to his hands, instantly regretting it. They were already covered in warm crimson, flowing around his fingers like a broken dam.

Morse’s eyes were fixed on Thursdays, holding onto his wrists like a lifeline. He could only manage short and shallow breaths; each one sent a stabbing pain ricocheting through his chest. The pain was overwhelming.

“Hey, lad, keep looking at me. You’re alright, son.” Thursday tried to wish it to be true, but in the back of his mind he knew how fatal a bullet in the lung could be. God, he was too young to die.

Morse’s face was contorted with pain, eyes glassy as he focused on breathing. “S – Sir?” He manages to stutter out. “Sorry. Should… should have ch – checked f’ gun” his eyes were swimming with fear. Not fear of death, no. Morse lost interest in that after years of living under his father and Gwen. Fear that he’d let Thursday down.

Thursday had no idea what to say. He wanted to shout at him for ever thinking it was his fault she shot him, wanted to tell him he couldn’t have know she had a gun, but he knew arguing with him wouldn’t help anyone. “hush lad none of that. Ambulance will be here soon, just save your energy”

Morse’s hands fall away from Thursdays and his head lolls slightly. His eyes were still open, but they were dull and unfocused.

“Hey, Morse, stay awake for me.” He puts a bloody hand on Morse’s shoulder, shaking him lightly, he shifts forwards, to hover over Morse’s line of sight. “You stay with me, you hear? Stay with me.”

He wanted to pull the lad up into a tight hug and will all the hurt away like he used to with Joanie and Sam when they’d graze their knees when they were younger, but he couldn’t take the pressure off the wound.

“’m sorry” Morse whispers so silently Fred only catches it by watching his lips moving slightly.

He watched painfully as Morse’s eyelids flutter closed. “Morse? Morse! stay with me, don’t give up. Don’t you dare.”

He moves his spare hand to lightly tap his cheek, but the boy didn’t stir. “Endeavour!” Fred cursed himself for the broken sound that came out of him. The only thing it caused was streaking his ashen cheek an angry red. “Shit. Shit, Endeavour, come on, wake up.” He couldn’t help his voice cracking. Couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat.

He was vaguely aware of sirens in the distance, but everything seemed so far away now. Cautiously, he put his hand to Morse’s neck, fearing the worst. There. A faint, slow beat.

Fred let out a breath of release. He hadn’t lost him. Yet.

“It’s okay lad, I’m here, I won’t let you go. Don’t give up, you hear me?” Fred says brokenly. He couldn’t lose him. Couldn’t lose another bagman he swore to protect.

He hears screeching outside, car doors slamming, and the sound of people thundering up the path outside. “Its okay lad, only a little longer now.”

“Woman, mid 40s, single gunshot through the heart. Deceased.” He hears one paramedic saying behind him.

Another was crouched next to him, “man late 20s, gun shot wound to the chest. Possible collapsed lung. Alive.” With that more people surrounded him. “Sir, you need to step back now.” a woman to his left says sternly.

Thursday blinks from his trance, slowly registering her words. He nods slowly, shakily rising to his feet.

There were more people on scene by the second. Forensics were kitting up, others loading the lifeless body of Mrs Coke Norris onto a stretcher, and even more doing the same with Morse.

“Pulse is dropping, we need to move him fast. Clear the path!” one medic shouts, four paramedics thunder past, carrying Morse on a stretcher to the ambulance. One of the boys arms had slipped off the stretcher and dangled carelessly whilst they rushed him out of the house.

All of a sudden Fred felt very alone.

“Inspector?” DeBryn’s familiar voice echoes from across the room.

Fred stood there, staring at his hands which were covered in Morse’s blood up to his wrists.

DeBryn swallows. As a pathologist he didn’t have a haemophobic bone in his body, but knowing the blood belonged to Morse made him uneasy. “He’s in the best of care, Fred.” DeBryn say softly, crossing the room to stand with Thursday.

Fred didn’t respond, eyes fixed on his hands. _I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him_ , rang through Fred’s mind on repeat.

“Come now, Inspector, lets get you cleaned up.” DeBryn guides him wordlessly out of the blood tarnished house to the side of his car where he finds a cloth in the boot.

“Fred, look at me.” DeBryn says sternly, taking Thursday by both arms, “You’re in shock. Now, were going to clean your hands and then I’ll take you home.” He says, gently scrubbing the blood off Thursday whilst he stood dumb-struck. “Just focus on slow deep breaths for me.”

Thursday scowled. He knew fine well what to do in shock for gods sake. But this didn’t feel like shock. It felt like the world was falling apart around him. “I need to go to the hospital.”

* * *

It was another 30 minutes before they arrived at Cowley general.

The nurses were reluctant to give any information on Morse’s condition to non-family members but dammit Thursday’s the closest thing to family the boy had, excluding his sister and dying father who were in no fit state to travel.

“He’s still in surgery” they said, “they lost him for a few moments in the ambulance”, “it’s 50/50”. Thursday couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. He’d heard all he could manage. There was no good news, only that he was just about alive.

He didn’t know how much time had gone by, sitting silently in the waiting room, staring at his blood-stained coughs that even Win wouldn’t be able to clean away. He knew he should keep a positive outlook, but as a policeman he was trained for worse case scenarios. This was by far the worst.

He wonders how Bright would react to Thursdays resignation if Morse didn’t come out of surgery. Thursday wouldn’t give it a second thought; he wasn’t going back to Cowley CID without Morse.

He needed to call Morse’s sister. Tell her he left her brother alone with a murderer and now he can’t be with his dying father because he only had one working lung. That he almost died from blood loss. That her father might just outlive his son.

He took a deep breath and dialled the Lincolnshire number into the hospital’s courtesy phone.

“Hello, Joyce Morse speaking.” A deflated sounding woman says.

“Hello, Miss Morse, this is DCI Fred Thursday from Oxford City police”

“Oh god what’s happened? Is it Endeavour? He was meant to be here hours ago.” Joyce cut in before Fred could explain any further, clearly already fearing the worst. Maybe it was familial instinct.

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident, Miss, your brothers in hospital. I’m afraid he won’t be able to come home.”

The line was silent for a few moments. “Is he alright?” she paused, thinking, before correcting herself, “will he be?”

“I’m sure he’ll pull through.” Thursday lies. He couldn’t face telling her there was a 50/50 chance he wouldn’t. “I’m sorry he can’t be there for you.”

“No don’t worry about that, dad will understand. Just make sure you look after him, won’t you? I’d come myself only…”

“I will, Miss. Is there anything I can do?” Fred asked, feeling at a loss.

“No, we’re okay, just make sure he gets better.”

Thursday said his goodbyes and put the phone down, taking a weighted breath.

The second call wasn’t quite as hard.

“Thursday household,’ he hears his wife speak chirpily down the line.

Thursday let’s out a sigh, the sound of her voice already drowning out the negative thoughts. “It’s me, pet” he says softly

“Fred? What’s this calling mid-afternoon, everything alright?” Her tone became more serious. She knew Fred had taken the gun from the shed. She only prayed he didn’t have to use it.

“It’s Morse, love. He’s in surgery”

“Surgery? What happened?” Win asks without missing a beat. He knew she’d be worried; she’d wanted to take the boy under her wing the first time he’d come by the house. Kind eyes, she’d said, but needs a bit of fussing over.

“He’s been shot.” Thursday gritted out. Saying it out loud made it all too real.

He heard a gasp down the phone. “Oh Fred, he’ll be alright, wont he?”

Her optimism made Fred shed a tear. “I don’t know, love.” He says brokenly. He couldn’t lie to her.

“I’ll come as soon as I can. I just need to sort the kids out for dinner.”

Thursday wanted to argue with her to stay home, not to worry, but he knew she was already set in her way and there was no changing her mind after that. And, in truth, Fred wanted her there. “Thanks, pet. He won’t be out of surgery for another few hours, I imagine, so no rush.”

“I’ll see you soon, Fred. Try not to worry yourself too much.”

He knew he ought to call the station too, but he felt so drained. He’d hoped DeBryn might have spoken to Bright about Morse’s situation so Fred didn’t have to.

He re-takes his seat in the waiting room, knowing he was in for a very long night.


	2. Little Lion Man

Win arrived at the hospital an hour after she’d received the call from Fred, carrying three lots of sandwiches.

They sat together in the waiting room quietly eating, not mentioning the extra sandwich Thursday knew she’d made for Morse. He was grateful for the small gesture that carried so much hope.

More than anything, Fred wanted to find Morse in good spirits, dryly joking about how the bullet was ‘just a scratch’ whilst he tucked into the carefully prepared ham and tomato sandwiches after insisting ‘you really didn’t have to Mrs Thursday’.

But he knew that wasn’t a possibility. He’d seen the blood, heard the paramedics reports. He knew Morse wasn’t walking out of this one.

He’d just come back from putting the sandwich wrappings in the bin when a weary looking doctor appeared through the doors of the waiting room.

“Family of Endeavour Morse?” the doctor asks. The long-limbed man carried a clipboard tight to his chest and held out his free hand to greet them.

“Ugh, no.” Fred said, somewhat regretfully, shaking the younger man’s hand. “DCI Fred Thursday, and my wife, Win. His family can’t be here,” not that they would be anyways, even if they were in full health, he thought solemnly.

“I’m Doctor Stephenson, I was the surgeon operating on Endeavour.”

“How is he? Is he –“

“He’s alive.” The doctor adds quickly

Fred lets out a sigh of relief, internally thanking whatever God it was that didn’t take Morse away.

“I’m afraid there were multiple complications though,” Dr Stephenson says sternly, wiping the smile away from Fred’s face. “Please take a seat.”

“Endeavour experienced almost critical blood loss, he’s been on blood transfusions for almost 3 hours now, so we believe it’s under control. The bullet, as suspected, had punctured his lung as well as fracturing ribs T7 and T8.”

Thursday nodded, nothing the doctor said came as a surprise.

“One of the ribs damaged the liver, causing mild internal bleeding. We were able to stop it, but he’ll have to be monitored very closely for at least 72 hours to make sure it doesn’t reoccur. We were also able to repair the lung and set the ribs to an extent. The body will have to heal the rest naturally.”

The doctor paused to allow the pair to absorb the information. The lad didn’t exactly do things by halves, Fred thought to himself.

“To increase his chances of a full recovery we’ve kept him on general anaesthetic so it’s unlikely he’ll wake up in the next 36 to 48 hours. Our biggest concern now is the risk of infection, as the lungs are extremely susceptible.”

“Will he be okay?” Fred asked worryingly. So much for good news.

“I’m afraid it’s down to how his body deals with the trauma now. We’ll know more if and when he stabilises.”

“Can we see him?” Win asks, reading Fred’s mind.

“Endeavours currently being monitored in intensive care, but I’m sure I can arrange for you to see him soon.”

“Morse.” Thursday says quietly. “He prefers Morse.”

“Of course, Inspector. I’ll come and find you as soon as it’s safe to see him.”

The doctor walks away, back through the doors leading to god knows where.

Fred slumped into the uncomfortable chair, letting his face fall onto his hands.

“There, there Fred. He’s going to be alright. He’s strong” She said softly, letting her hand roam in comforting circles on Fred back.

“You didn’t see it, Win. It was awful.” Fred mutters.  
“Listen to me Fred Thursday, that boy is a fighter, much more so than you give him credit for. He’s going to pull through. Just you watch.” Her naïve determination made Fred smile. “And when he does, you bring him home.”

* * *

At some point Win had called to let Joan and Sam know they wouldn’t be home tonight. Of course, Fred had insisted that there wasn’t any point in both of them losing a night’s sleep, but Win refused, there was no way she was leaving without knowing Morse was alright.

It was just after 11pm when the doctor came to allow the Thursdays to visit Morse. Win was dozing with her head resting on the crook of Fred’s shoulder, whilst Fred’s cheek rested on her head as, he too, lightly slept.

The doctor gently tapped Fred on his unoccupied shoulder, waking him immediately. The slight movement was enough to rouse Win too.

“Mr and Mrs Thursday, would you like to come with me?”

Fred practically jumped out of his seat before the doctor had finished his sentence.

Win took his hand as they followed silently behind the doctor.

“Morse has been stabilised but is still being monitored in the ICU. He seems to be responding well, his blood pressure is normalising, and his heart rate has settled to a safe level which gives us good reason to assume he should fully recover.” He says, giving the Thursdays a quick smile as he continues leading them through endless corridors.

“He is, however, still on general anaesthetic to promote the healing process and a ventilator to help him breathing.” It came as a sort of warning of what to expect.

Finally, they stopped outside a private room in the left wing of the hospital.

“After you.” the doctor said, holding open the door.

Fred went in first, closely followed by Win.

He’d never seen Morse so still. It was so unnatural. He looked nothing like the man who’d saved him from Vince Kasper only that day.

The boy was almost as pale as the sheets that were tucked tightly around him up to his armpit. He was laid out in such straight angles Fred wondered if it was even comfortable. IV lines were attached to the back of Morse’s wrist whilst a heart monitor was strapped to his index finger, the only recognisable feature was his wild auburn hair, the only bit of colour to grace the room.

Most disturbing was the wide tube parting Morse’s lips, pushing air down his throat into his barely functioning lungs. The rhythmic sound as the ventilator breathed for him. The steady beeping of Morse’s pulse. It all felt so wrong. A man shouldn’t be hooked to so many machines.

The whole scene reminded Fred of a horror movie.

The doctor quickly jotted down Morse’s heart rate and blood pressure onto his chart before slipping out of the room, to ‘give them some space’.

Fred was scared to go closer. Scared that if he touched him, he’d disappear. He’d never seen Morse look so vulnerable.

Win on the other hand took no time going to the boy, gently stroking the hair from his forehead, smiling softly at his sleeping form.

She couldn’t believe how young he looked. he looked so relaxed now he wasn’t constantly thinking at 100 miles an hour. His sharp features seemed softer; his trademark frown faded out.

She looked to Fred sorrowfully. As much as she was glad Morse seemed to be resting it made it seem all that much more unfair. A man so young shouldn’t have gone through half the things Morse had.

“Come here,” she says, holding out her hand. The other still taming Morse’s stubborn curls.

Fred obliged, taking her hand to stand by Morse’s bed. It was hard to look at him like this, knowing if he’d have just stayed with the lad, he could have prevented all of this. Worse so, if he hadn’t been so stubborn to Vince Kasper, Morse would have been safe in Lincolnshire with his family.

Tears stung the back of his eyes. He didn’t have to words. Couldn’t handle the overwhelming feeling of failure.

“He’s going to be just fine.” Win says firmly, sensing her husband’s sorrow.

Thursday nods, knowing she was right.

“I’m just going to nip to the bathroom” Win says, which Thursday translates to _I’ll give you two some time alone_. She gave his hand one last squeeze before slipping out the room.

Fred sighed, pulling the plastic chair in the corner of the room to sit beside Morse. Slowly, he reached out to take Morse’s hand, limp and cold to touch. “I’m so sorry, lad.” He barely whispers, letting a tear roll down his cheek.

Fred Thursday was a man of pride. A level-headed detective who wouldn’t take any prisoners to get what he needed. But in this moment, he felt small. Weak. It felt as though he’d lost a pound and not even found the sixpence.

Nothing he could say would make any of this okay, so he sat in silent solitude with the reassuring beeping of Morse’s pulse. For now, that was enough.

* * *

Fred refused to leave his side, even when the doctors would come for check-ups, which, Fred realised, was more often than not, but he would stand quietly out of their way so no one made any objections.

He was grateful for PC Strange’s suggestion of taking his statement from him at the hospital, grateful to Bright who filed him for leave under ‘family emergency’ which wasn’t really a lie. He was grateful for Win, who would go back and forth to the house, bringing Fred meals and a change of clothes. He binned the shirt he wore that day.

He’d been in the hospital for almost 48 hours, and after enough time, had found the least uncomfortable way to sleep in the plastic chair next to Morse.

He missed the slight increase in heart rate.

Missed the slight twitching of Morse’s fingers.

He didn’t miss the wailing of alarms.

Fred’s eyes shot open, jumping to his feet.

Morse was awake. Morse was _awake_.

Morse was choking. Choking on the tube in his throat.

Fred cursed as he ran out of the room, almost falling over his feet. “Nurse! He’s awake!” Thursday yelled, which gained the attention of multiple nurses, all of whom followed him quickly into Morse’s room.

One ran back out, as the others tried to hold him down, stopping him from injuring himself as he panicked. Morse’s eyes were wide in fear, unable to breathe. His arms were trying to reach for his throat, but the nurses continued to hold him back.

It felt like a lifetime before the nurse returned and injected something harshly into his arm. Shortly the boy stills, and his eyes roll into the back of his head.

All of a sudden, the wailing stopped, and everyone seemed to relax. Other than Fred. “What the bloody hell was that?” Fred bellows, stepping forward. Adrenaline still pumped through his body.

“His body was clearly fighting the anaesthetic and woke up. He couldn’t breath for the chest tube, but a doctor will come and take it out now.”

“What’s that you given him?” he asked, pointing to the, now empty, syringe.

“Just something to sedate him whilst we take him off the ventilator.” The nurse explained before the doctor came in.

“If you can wait outside whilst we do this, it would be most helpful.” A different doctor to usual said. Probably off shift, Fred thought to himself as he picked up his coat and went into the corridor.

He strode up and down the corridor for longer than he cared to before the doctor emerged from Morse’s room.

“I know it may not have looked like it but waking up by himself is a good thing.” He says confidently. “He’s breathing on his own now, suggesting his lung is healing well. Your sons clearly very strong.” He says before walking back down the corridor.

Thursday felt dumb struck. The doctor thought Fred was his father. Even untrue, it made him smile. He is strong, stronger than most realise. 

He returned to the room to find Morse looking much more alive without that horrid machine strapped to him. There was more colour to his skin, even his hair seemed brighter.

It was then he knew Morse really was going to be alright. And he was going to whatever it took to keep him that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yass this is about as far as i wanted to get with this, not sure whether to do a chapter where the thursdays take him home? I can't decide, let me know what you guys think :))

**Author's Note:**

> wooo I wrote some more! Acting like I dont have exams in like 5 days lol   
> Hope you like it so far!! Feel free to comment anf let me know what you think / if anything needs changing :))


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